


you wanted a better story (who wouldn't?)

by Murf1307



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (not literally), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Becky Rosen is a Storm and Rides Dragons, Gen, Guns, Magic Revealed, The Colt (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4489536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Becky Rosen obtains the Colt in a moment of desperation, and something changes forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you wanted a better story (who wouldn't?)

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this](http://allerdrake.tumblr.com/post/37549247215/deanofthemomentbyasia-who-let-becky-have-the) tumblr post about a week ago as i was taking a nostalgia trip down my becky rosen tag. because damn did that girl deserve much better writing than she got.

The gun is covered in roses.  Red ones, and Becky looks down at the ivory and red and isn't exactly sure what it means.  When the gun fell into her hands, almost-empty and over a century and a half old, there hadn't been time to think about it.  
  
She cradles the gun in her hands, knees tight, ankles crossed, elbows pulled in against her ribcage.  It doesn't make sense -- it's just a gun, after all, even if it's an old one.  
  
But this?  This is magic, ivory and jade and a red so deep it looks like blood inlaid in the stock and barrel and spinning wheel of the chambers.  This is magic, and somehow, she's the one who worked it.  She turns the gun in her hands, staring at it.  
  
Castiel stared at her like she was something special, and told her to keep it.  She's not oblivious, she knows this is the Colt, the same Colt that killed the Yellow-Eyed Demon, and now she's _done something_ to it, something that made an angel pause and reassess her.  That's terrifying, wonderful and terrifying, and she wants to cradle it to her chest.  
  
This feels like absolution, feels like penance and catharsis.    
  
She stands up and holds the gun in one hand, carefully proper about gun safety.  Her finger is alongside the barrel, not in by the trigger, and she points it steadily downward.  Never point a gun at anything you're not prepared to shoot.  
  
Carefully, she raises her eyes, the metal and wood warm and buzzing -- like springtime, like Easter, like rebirth -- and meets an angel's gaze.  
  
"What do you need me to do?" 


End file.
